


Peppermint Parkway

by PurpleSugarQuills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleSugarQuills/pseuds/PurpleSugarQuills
Summary: Three years after defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts, wizarding Britain is still at war. The Order members remain on the run, smuggling Muggle-born wizards into France, and trying desperately to end the reign of terror ruled by Voldemort and his legion of Death Eaters. In the midst of war, Hermione Granger finds an unlikely ally.Canon-divergent Dramione war fic.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 68
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a new story!! This one is very different from _Teachable Moments_ , so I totally understand if it isn’t your cup of tea. But it’s one of those plots that has kept me up at night, that hasn’t left my head so I figure, what the heck, Imma write it.
> 
> Thanks so, so much to the lovely and amazing **amilyx** for beta reading this chapter and assuring me that it was not awful.
> 
> And to the splendid and wonderful **houseofpercypotter** for poking holes in my plot and chatting about canon divergence with me and just being a spectacular beta and human being. I really couldn’t have done it without them.
> 
> I have the first 5 chapters complete, so I’m going to try and stick to a posting schedule with this one. A new chapter every Monday, and if I can get a good enough cushion, probably swap to a Monday+Thursday bi-weekly updates. Fingers crossed!

****

_chapter one_

Hermione Granger shoved her feet into a pair of sturdy boots. The fur-lining was chilly, the cold seeping through to her wool socks. With a frown, she cast a warming charm and watched as the bits of snow clinging to the rubber toe of each boot evaporated.

The nook nearest the door received hardly any heat from the furnace, but removing her shoes when entering the house was a requirement growing up. Eons ago when the Muggle world was the only one she knew, her parents instilled in her the importance of removing footwear by the door. The world had changed, but old habits were hard to break.

With shaking fingers, Hermione shrugged on her battered wool coat, tucked her plaited hair into the collar, and was out the door.

She trudged up the winding driveway and through the creaking wooden gate. The crunch of packed snow beneath her boots continued as she pressed through the litany of protection and concealment charms placed around the little stone cottage on Peppermint Parkway.

It was her favorite safehouse, and though she spent the majority of her time inside studying maps and reading anything the members of the Order deemed helpful to her research, it had started to feel a bit like home.

Reaching the perimeter of her protection spells in the space where Hermione knew was safe to Apparate, she ran a thumb over the coin in her pocket, tracing the puckered copper numbers she’d long ago memorized like a lifeline. With a breath, she closed her eyes and inhaled, Apparating to the outer edges of the Scottish countryside.

The fog hung thick in the air. A small house sat at the bottom of the hill, and from her place at the top of it, Hermione could make out the shape of the dark mark burned into the doorway, fiery lines of a _Flagrate_ charm standing out even in the daylight.

Not for the first time, she wondered if this was a trap.

Her heartbeat slammed against her ribcage; maybe she should go back. Perhaps she could send these coordinates to someone else, too, just in case. Instead, she ducked behind a tree and watched the house for a moment. Her source hadn’t failed her yet.

Their last message had read: _They’ll be there at 16:00._

And like clockwork, they were.

A caravan of Death Eaters clad in dark robes pulled to a stop in front of the squat house, exiting the carriage without so much as bothering to glance around. At their last meeting, Bill Weasley had mentioned to Hermione he’d noticed the same thing--three years of victory had made their enemy complacent and careless. It could be their downfall, and Hermione gripped the fabric of her trousers in anticipation that today, at least, it would be.

From the carriage they pulled a single prisoner, and Hermione nearly laughed and cried all at once. Luna Lovegood looked around, blinking her eyes dazedly, her lips forming the shape of words. Hermione wished to listen to whatever eccentric comment she’d made, longing to hear the serene timbre of Luna’s voice.

As she watched a cloaked Death Eater yank the chain secured around Luna’s pale wrists, Hermione’s heartbeat thumped frantically against her ribs. Her source hadn’t let her down after all. Luna _was_ here, and she was safe.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione cast a _Deprimo_. She didn’t blink as the space where four of the seven Death Eaters stood sank into the earth with a deafening crash.

The Death Eater closest to Luna glanced around frantically, and Hermione bit her lip.

She’d set her trap and they’d literally fallen into it, but she had one mission--rescue Luna and retreat. She was not so foolish to entertain the idea of taking on seven Death Eaters alone.

Emerging from her hiding place, Hermione launched a series of exploding charms in the direction of the house. Several of the Death Eaters scrambled to protect it, or, Hermione suspected, whatever was inside. But she never let her eyes stray from Luna.

Only one Death Eater stood between them, and as he raised his wand--confusion and frustration warring across his sharp features--Hermione shouted, “ _Everte Statum!”_

He was thrust backwards, and Hermione took advantage of the precious seconds she’d bought herself, rushing to Luna’s side.

The blonde gave her a tranquil smile, her cheeks red from the cold. “It’s lovely to see you, Hermione.”

Hermione laughed, seized Luna’s wrist in one of her hands, and touched the portkey in her pocket, just in case anti-disapparition jinxes were in place. There was the twist of a hook somewhere behind her navel, the distinct unpleasant feeling of being yanked and folded simultaneously, and then there was snow.

The wave of nausea was easily avoided, thanks to the sense of urgency to get back to the safehouse as quickly as possible. The portkey had put them a half mile away in case they’d had a stowaway, or worse--in case someone else seized control of it.

Hand still on Luna’s wrist, Hermione ran.

The cold was harsh and her lungs were burning, each breath a heady struggle for oxygen. The threat of capture pushed her forward—fleeing deeper into the woods, over the packed snow.

When she turned, escaped strands of hair clung to her cheek and forehead. Hermione couldn’t spy anyone through the thicket of trees or hear anything beyond her own struggles for breath, and she didn’t suspect they were being followed. But still, she ran.

The feeling of her braid thumping against her back paired with the weight of her wand in her right hand reminded her she was still alive and fighting. Her burning lungs reminded her she was still breathing. Behind her, Luna’s panted breaths reminded her that she wasn’t alone. The weight of the coin in her pocket reminded her that there could be good in the world, always.

When the forest opened to a meadow dotted with clusters of Rowan trees—fat, red clusters of berries against the endless stretch of white snow behind them--Hermione skidded to a stop. The winding street was too thick with snow to make out, but she knew this path well.

A red sign post with faded white letters proclaimed the street to be Peppermint Parkway, and up the hill behind a litany of protection spells sat the safehouse. Smoke billowed from the stone fireplace as a fire crackled in the cottage’s hearth.

Without the rustling of trees closing in on her, Hermione could hear the deafening silence and, for the first time in so long, let the calming wave of safety wash over her.

She squeezed Luna’s arm before releasing it, realizing that the blonde’s wrists were still chained together. Shaking her head, Hermione cast a quick severing charm and the chains fell away. Luna rubbed her bruised wrists but didn’t flinch, and in silence the pair climbed the hill to safety.

They entered the cottage, Hermione toeing out of her boots by the doorway and hanging her coat on one of the rusted hooks. Luna glanced around the entry and smiled.

“I haven’t been here before, Hermione. But I’ve heard it is a favorite of yours.”

Hermione nodded, unsure of what to say. Instead of speaking, she slipped past Luna to make tea.

“There’s some bread on the table if you’re hungry,” she said after the silence that stretched between them became too much. Then Hermione flinched, instantly feeling ridiculous. Luna had been held prisoner by snatchers for nearly four days--she was probably starving. Hermione quickly grabbed a pair of oversized mugs from the otherwise bare cupboards. They were most likely Muggle souvenirs from a visit to the city, and as the heated water filled them the black faded away to reveal the London Skyline. Well, the skyline before Voldemort seized control of the Ministry of Magic and wreaked havoc on the wizarding and Muggle worlds alike…

Luna sat on the overstuffed powder blue sofa, staring at the flames in the floo with a soft, faraway gaze Hermione didn’t want to disturb.

“How did you know where I was?” Luna asked, softly.

Hermione wet her lips with her tongue, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. “I have an inside source.”

“The one Harry and Kingsley told you not to communicate with?”

Hermione reached for her mug, turning away from Luna’s clear, open stare. Sometimes being watched by Luna felt like being read, and Hermione hated the feeling.

“I like this place, the energy is nice,” Luna commented before breaking off a hunk of crust. “Oh, there’s rosemary in this.”

“Fleur made it.”

“This place feels like Christmas,” Luna continued through a mouthful of bread, leaving Hermione feeling like she was grasping at the coattails of whatever conversation Luna was currently having.

While she was confused, Hermione felt herself nodding in agreement anyway. She’d spent time at various safehouses over the last few years, but this one was special. If she could suspend disbelief for a moment, here it was Christmas.

But when she looked over at Luna, the spell was broken. Luna was filthy, her collar bones protruding from her worn cloak, her blonde hair falling limp and ashen around her shoulders.

She needed a shower and a change of clothes--and to burn or to vanish the ones she was wearing, probably.

“Finish eating. I’ll send word to the Order that you’re safe and you can shower.”

Luna munched the bread and nodded. “Do you have any games? Maybe after my shower we could play Exploding Snap.”

Hermione felt her lips twitch. “Sure.”

Then she stepped away, grabbing a coin off the table and the one in her pocket. 

On the first, she tapped her wand and sent a message to the Order, letting them know that her source had been correct and Luna was safe and resting at the safehouse with her. On the second, she sent only two words:

_Thank you._

After Luna had her fill of bread and tea, Hermione led her to the house’s single lavatory, apologizing for the state of the bath--for the scores of empty shampoo bottles that sat upside down, collecting what little remains they had left. Rationing was tough as it was already, and personal hygiene products always seemed lower on the list of needs when things like food and wands were scarce.

Then Hermione moved back to the cottage’s main room to find both coins blank. As she contemplated sending a second message to her leak, there was a knock on the door. Hermione cast an unlocking charm and watched as Lavender Brown, Ian Claverdon, and George Weasley squeezed through the door.

George flashed her an easy grin, but she could tell that Ian and Lavender were furious with her.

“Luna’s in the shower, and then she needs to rest. She’s been with snatchers and she probably hasn’t had a chance to sleep properly for days,” Hermione stated in lieu of greeting.

Ian frowned, the skin between his eyebrows puckering. “You’re still communicating with your source?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “I trust them.”

Lavender snapped, voicing what Hermione suspected were Ron’s words, “What if it’s a trap?”

“What if it’s not?”

George waved a hand in the air, as if to diffuse the subject. “That’s for Kingsley to discuss with Hermione later; we’re here to drop off supplies and deliver Luna to Pomfrey to make sure she’s alright.”

Hermione watched as Lavender retrieved a small box from her bag and set it on the table before casting an engorgement charm. It swelled back to its original size, and Hermione peeked inside to find bread, a half box of crackers, a few pieces of fresh produce--courtesy of Neville, she suspected--and a generously sized tin of tea.

“Thank you.”

“No meat again this time, sorry,” Ian sighed, resting his hip against the lip of the counter. He’d been a few years ahead of Hermione in school, a Hufflepuff and an admirer of Luna’s. She wondered if he’d fought to be included in retrieving her.

Lavender handed Hermione a trio of books next, and Hermione studied the titles, hoping they’d be of some help in their efforts. When Hermione glanced up to find Lavender frowning at her, she wondered if the other girl had fought to _not_ be included on this mission.

“How is everyone?” Hermione asked, keeping her voice low.

Lavender shrugged. “They’re okay.”

Not good, of course, no one was _good_. But okay meant alive, and Hermione supposed that’s the best she could hope for.

“How’s Ron?”

Lavender inclined her head. “He’s well. We’re… ah,” her eyes darted down to the second finger on her left hand and Hermione watched the diamond there glimmer in the firelight. “We’re engaged.”

“Congratulations,” Hermione replied, knowing no amount of acting could inject any enthusiasm into her tone. It wasn’t that she was upset that Ron and Lavender were engaged, it was just that she believed anyone who chose _now_ to get married or fall in love--to attach themselves to another during these times--well… Hermione had never gone out of her way to conceal her opinions, but she was trying to be more conscientious when she voiced her thoughts. Ginny told her on their last undercover mission to Hogsmeade that having something to live for was a good thing. However, Hermione didn’t want to shoulder the burden of losing another loved one.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Has he talked to Harry?”

“You know the Order is trying to keep the three of you apart, so he hasn’t seen him in ages but… Sometimes they communicate. He misses both of you.” Lavender smiled sadly. “Things aren’t the same with the Golden Trio split up.”

Hermione nodded. That had been Kingsley’s doing. If one leg of the trio failed, it was bad. If all three of them were in one place and were to fall… She shook her head.

“I miss them, too.” Then she tried for a smile. It felt tight. “I’m happy for you and Ron. I am.”

Lavender sighed. “It’s fine, Hermione. It isn’t my favorite time to plan a wedding, either.” She looked over to where George was chatting with Ian, and quickly swapped her attention back to Hermione. “We’ve been staying at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. No news of Molly or Arthur. I think they’re helping smuggle Muggle-borns into France, but…”

Hermione nodded. “France is nervous. You-Know-Who’s got a secure enough foothold here, so they worry attacking France is the next logical step.”

“And then the rest of Europe will follow. He won’t stop.” Lavender’s eyes hardened as she spoke, her hands compressing into fists at her sides.

“He’ll want to dispose of Harry first, though,” Hermione whispered. “We just have to convince the other wizarding communities to send more aid before it’s too late.”

Lavender bit her lip, eyes ticking over Hermione’s features carefully. “Would you assist if they asked you? Would you leave Britain if it were to garner allies?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but then Luna emerged from the bathroom. She greeted Ian and then George with hugs, and then thanked Hermione for her hospitality, as though she’d come on holiday.

When the four departed, it was quiet. Hermione picked up her tea, glancing at the soft snowfall in the dying embers of daylight outside the window, pretending it’s Christmastime again.

As she gazed at the fading path of footsteps up the drive, the image of the London skyline had rescinded back to black on the color-changing mug, a sign her tea had grown tepid. She cast a wandless warming charm just as she felt the coin grow hot in her pocket.

Retrieving it, she read the words as they appeared, her heart pounding against her ribs.

_Need out. They know._

The words faded and left only a series of coordinates. Hermione jogged over to the map spread out on the desk laying near the untouched books Lavender had brought just moments earlier.

With shaking fingers, Hermione pinned her source’s location.

Logically, she knew she should contact the Order. She’d already gone behind their backs once that day, but if she hadn’t, Luna would…

With shaking hands, Hermione ran her hand over the end of her braid, feeling the frayed edges of her hair escaping the tidy cords. With an exhale, she honed in on the spot where the person who freed Luna was waiting for her. 

Contacting the order would take time; they wouldn’t listen to her right away, they’d want to meet and discuss the issue carefully, but her source couldn’t afford to wait…

Closing her eyes and reopening them with determination, Hermione steeled herself to do this, like she seemed to do so many things as of late, alone.

Shoving her feet inside her chilly rubber-toed boots and yanking her arms back inside the coat at the door, she jogged to the end of the drive and focused on the location of her ally, Apparating away.

Moments later, she stood on a cliff jutting out over the sea, the sound of waves crashing into rocks in the distance. When she licked her lips, Hermione could taste the salt lingering in the air. She raised her wand before opening her eyes.

And on the edge of the cliff standing in the mist was a single figure in the dark robes of a Death Eater. Hermione shivered but moved toward them, keeping her wand poised, each step punctuated by the crunch of frost clinging to the blades of grass beneath her boots.

The figure turned, disturbing the fog around him, and the hood dropped away revealing a wave of white-blond hair falling over his forehead. Hard, grey eyes. The straight slope of an aristocratic nose. Pale skin pulled tight over high cheekbones. The taut sneer of cupid's-bow lips. A strong jaw and a slender neck that bobbed with a thick swallow.

Hermione exhaled a puff of white as her eyes went wide.

“ _Malfoy_?!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Holy cats! I am blown away by the response of the first chapter. Wartime Dramione stories aren't for everyone, and I so appreciate all the kind words, kudos, and even the couple people who messaged me on tumblr! ♡♡
> 
> Shoutout to [amilyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonlywriting/pseuds/dragonlywriting) for pre-reading this chapter for me. She just posted her very first story, so check it out, too!!
> 
> And honestly, I couldn't have written this story without the amazing assistance of [houseofpercypotter](https://houseofpercypotter.tumblr.com/). Her knowledge of the HP universe has been invaluable in helping me outline this story.

“ _Malfoy_?!”

At the sound of his name, his sneer deepened.

Hermione shook her head, taking another careful step towards the cloaked figure of Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” she said again, as if convincing herself. “ _You’re_ the leak?”

At this, his eyes widened, and she finally saw the first flash of emotion flicker across his face. During their time at school, Malfoy was either gloating or wearing a permanent mask of disgust, like he was sniffing something unpleasant in the air around him.

However, during the months leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts his emotions had been difficult to read. Hermione thought back to the fateful night of the battle itself. She had set out to destroy the diadem in the room of hidden things while Malfoy had been off on some other nefarious plot most likely to stop her. In the sea of Fiendfyre, she’d come to the conclusion that Draco Malfoy hadn’t intended to kill her that day, but she was no closer to discerning why.

In the end, it was Crabbe who’d succeeded in destroying the diadem just as McGonagall managed to smuggle Harry out of the castle to safety while the battle was still underway. What remained of the Order had fled and now, three years later, Nagini lived and Voldemort reigned.

She bit her lip as she watched him, wand still poised in the space that stretched between them. Hermione had always known that her source was a Death Eater--the information they provided never led her to believe they were anything but. However, she hadn't expected them to be someone she knew.

Not knowing what else to do but repeat herself, she shook her wand and asked, “You’re the leak? My contact? _You_?”

“Not so loud, Granger,” Malfoy hissed. He turned his head left, then right, but Hermione was certain they were alone on the abandoned cliffside. Twenty meters below, the spray of waves crashed into rock, the freezing mist painting everything an otherworldly grey.

And through a fog of disbelief, Hermione watched as Malfoy pocketed the coin she’d been using to exchange short messages and coordinates, and then she bit her lip so hard she could taste the metallic tinge of blood.

“You’re the leak.”

“Have you gone daft?! Quiet. We need…” He looked nervous, grey eyes searching the empty space behind her shoulder. “We need to get out of here. We should go somewhere safe to talk.”

Hermione nodded and followed him down the cliffside, rubber-toed boots stepping over jagged rock and glossy patches of ice. Draco’s black robes whipped about his legs, catching the wind like a cotton sail, cracking through the silence like whips in the mist.

His boots were sturdy and black, the same she’d seen on all of her enemies over the years. She wondered if Death Eaters received a standard uniform. If Voldemort had to have it specially designed, if--

“Where can we go to talk?” he asked, not bothering to glance at her. Hermione’s feet faltered over a slick stone, and she quickly righted herself. Her brain was still reeling over the fact that Luna Lovegood was safe because of information _Draco Malfoy_ had provided. That a dozen of her closest companions had been spared an exploding charm at a drop-off point two weeks prior thanks to her childhood bully.

She’d always suspected that Malfoy hadn’t _wanted_ this war. That his role in everything had been forced upon him. These were his classmates he was killing. Of _course_ he was the leak. It made perfect sense.

Harry told her that Malfoy had lowered his wand when it was time for Dumbledore to die. She remembered the terrible night when he’d refused to outright give her identity away at the Manor. She shivered at the memory, the scar on the inside of her wrist flaring with phantom pain.

They reached the base of the cliff. The wind was quieter here, only slightly ruffling the wave of his blond hair while his heavy robes seemed unmoving against the gusts.

Hermione reached out a hand, hovering above his cloaked arm.

“I’m going to Apparate us to an Order safehouse. We should be the only ones there, and we can talk in private.”

He nodded, just once, and Hermione enclosed her hand over his arm. Despite the chilly air and the layer of thick clothing, he felt warm, and then they were gone--landing outside the wards of the stone cottage on Peppermint Parkway.

She led the way up the winding drive, watching the way Malfoy took in their surroundings. She doubted he’d find the squat cottage or the slow drift of snowfall charming. Behind her, his boots crunched through snow, and she led them up the path and to the door.

A quick flick of her wand and the door opened. Stepping through the entryway, she sighed.

It was warmer inside. Hermione shucked her coat by the door and toed out of her boots. Malfoy watched her, but didn’t make any move to remove any of his own clothing.

“Don’t you need to contact or warn anyone of my arrival?”

“Not yet. I…” She met his grey eyes, her own narrowing slightly. “The Order didn’t want me to remain in contact with you. They forbade me from going after Luna, and when I got the message that you’d been found out, I... ”

One corner of his mouth flexed. “I’m your dirty little secret, Granger?”

She frowned at him. The man before her was both familiar and new to her, the teasing glint in his eyes sharper than she remembered but less cruel. Instead of giving in to his teasing, Hermione walked toward the kitchenette.

“I’ll make tea.”

With her wand, she set the kettle to heat. When she turned back, Draco had hung his cloak by the door. He stood near the sofa in black trousers and a fitted shirt with long, black sleeves. The material was tight, stretching across his chest and shoulders. He was tall and lithe, his shoulders broader than she remembered, and Hermione knew that whatever he’d been up to since the last time she’d seen him, some degree of exercise seemed to have been a part of it.

The kettle whistled and she turned away quickly, hoping any flush to her skin could be blamed on the cold.

Hermione plucked the new tin of tea off the table before grabbing the pair of mugs from the cupboard. She could hear Malfoy moving through the small cottage, and she turned, watching him sneer at her empty plate left out and the messy piles of parchment on the desk shoved against the far wall. He paused to read the spines of books crowding the window’s ledge, and she watched the quizzical expression pull at his features as he absorbed their titles. She straightened, wondering at his thoughts.

Malfoy had always been intelligent, second behind her in their year at school, and she felt something stir inside her--a rush of anticipation she hadn’t felt in ages. With their minds together, with her research and his knowledge of Voldemort’s army, they could be unstoppable.

“Here,” she said, handing him a mug.

Draco took it, watching as the black faded to reveal an image of the London skyline as the tea inside warmed the ceramic. His grey eyes widened.

Hermione bit back her smile. “It’s a Muggle cup. A cheap souvenir from the city someone must have picked up. A color changing mug; they’re kind of kitschy.”

His eyes met hers, shocked.

“It looks like magic. How could Muggles…?” his voice trailed and Hermione felt the laughter inside her bubble to the surface. She clutched a hand over her mouth to contain the sound, a joyous laughter so foreign, even here in her safe space. She couldn’t remember anyone making her laugh in ages.

When she thought she was done laughing, she pulled back to find Draco frowning at her. Another peal of laughter burst forth and then she bit her lip to contain it.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. It’s just… of all the feats of Muggle technology that could impress you…”

He grunted and lifted the mug to his lips. “Strange isn’t it? Their photographs don’t move but their mugs do _this_.”

Hermione smiled into her tea. “Remind me to introduce you to movies sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's uncharacteristically short, so I'll break my once-a-week upload schedule and have chapter 3 posted Wednesday January 13. See you then!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to houseofpercypotter and amilyx for their beta work!

After a dinner of bread with stewed carrots and potatoes, Hermione slipped into the bathroom to take a shower. She stood under the spray of water, using heating charms to keep the water warm, and closed her eyes to try preventing her thoughts from straying.

It was a near-impossible feat for her. Her mind was always working, always sorting through possibilities and grasping at solutions. Draco Malfoy was her ally, and no one in the Order trusted her source when he was just a faceless insider sending her helpful bits of information.

Now that she had Malfoy standing inside an Order safehouse, she was even less confident anyone would be willing to trust him.

But she couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide him. And she most certainly couldn’t let him go.

Turning off the shower, she cast a hot air charm to dry her skin and hair, quickly tying the mass of curls in a knot behind her head. She slipped on clean clothes--denims and a powder blue jumper--and entered the living room, watching the way Draco Malfoy stared at her desk scattered with research. It looked a mess, but there was a system to her madness.

Hermione cleared her throat and he glanced her way.

“What are you researching?” he asked.

“I can’t say.”

“You don’t know?” He turned toward her, grey eyes bright. The corner of his mouth hooked in amusement. “Or you don’t trust me?”

Hermione sighed and joined him by the table. “It’s not that I don’t trust  _ you _ , exactly, it’s just confidential. Only Harry, Ron, and I know.”

“Not even Kingsley?” He looked surprised, but Hermione already knew living under Kingsley’s leadership was vastly different than what he’d left behind.

“He knows enough of it, but no. The details are confidential.” Hermione watched his eyes move back over the spines of books. They were inconspicuous enough, often varied and useless to her. “Would you like a shower?”

“I’d rather take a walk. Clear my head.”

While he was gone, she sent a message to the Order leadership saying that she’d met up with her source and he was at the safehouse with her. Then she studied the new texts Lavender had delivered. She was still reading when Draco returned.

“I told them you were here.”

“I suppose they want to meet with me,” he replied, removing his boots at the door. He always had been a quick learner.

“Yes. Kingsley and Fleur have both replied. They send their thanks for helping rescue Luna.”

“Lovegood is… She doesn’t deserve what they’d do to her.”

Hermione nodded. “I’d argue that  _ no one  _ deserves what You-Know-Who would do to them, but yes. Luna is a dear friend. I’m glad she’s safe, so thank you.”

His mouth was a grim line as he stepped toward her. “No one’s safe. Not yet.”

She felt inclined to agree. “If you’re faking all of this and you kill me, they’ll know it was you.”

“You can’t possibly think that,” he sneered. The way he looked down his nose at her made her feel small. It was both mocking and pitying, and Hermione felt herself sitting straighter in her chair. “If I’d wanted you dead, I would’ve done it on the cliffside. However, I assume there’s a process to go through to prove my--intentions?”

Hermione stood so they’d be on equal footing, only she still had to crane her neck to glare at him. Draco Malfoy was taller than her when they’d been at Hogwarts, but in the years since he’d continued to grow while she had not.

“ Veritaserum, if there’s any on hand,” she explained, “and Legilimency.”

He nodded. “Fine. I have nothing to hide. I might not be… enthusiastic to be here, but I’m not going to change my mind. I suppose it’s too late for that, anyway.”

Self preservation, she knew, was a family trait. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his and he recoiled like she’d spilt acid on him.

The offending limb hung awkwardly in the space between them. Hermione flushed before curling it against her chest. “Sorry.”

He looked flustered, but didn’t say anything further. Taking a step away, Draco’s hands disappeared into the pockets of his trousers.

“ I’ll shower. Is there… a place to rest?”

“Yes,” she replied quickly, flinching at the eager crack on her voice. “There’s an extra room. Second door on the left. The bathroom’s there.”

She pointed vaguely and he nodded. The cottage was small and there weren’t  _ that  _ many rooms. Hermione bit her lip as she watched him trudge toward the bath and then pause, pale hand hovering inches above the doorknob.

His voice was soft when he spoke. “I do appreciate you taking me in. Even if all of this change is difficult for me at times, I am grateful.”

Hermione smiled as he disappeared into the bathroom. She listened to shower water swap on, picking up a book to keep her thoughts away from the sudden knowledge that Draco Malfoy was naked just on the other side of the door.

She shook her head and the idiotic thought and instead opened the journal Lavender had left and chewed on her lower lip. It was difficult to concentrate, she convinced herself, only because it’d been so long since she’d seen a naked man.

Hermione retreated to her room with the book and awoke the following morning, running her tongue across her morning teeth and making a face. Casting a quick teeth-cleaning charm and a silent apology to her parents, Hermione dressed for the day and set out to make tea.

Draco emerged from the extra room, hair tousled and sneer in place. She tossed him an apple and they ate in silence until it became too much and she asked, “Do you think they’ll be looking for you?”

“Yes. Being a blood traitor’s worse than being Muggle-born to them.”

She nodded, taking another bite of apple, teeth scraping the core. She didn’t feel hungry, but she knew she needed the calories.

“I have so many questions.”

He looked to be trying very hard not to smile. “I’d be surprised if you  _ weren’t _ brimming with questions, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. The war had whittled down parts of her, sure, but never her thirst for knowledge.

“The take over of the Ministry, the checkpoints, the imprisoning of Muggle-borns… What’s the endgame? He can’t possibly be satisfied with this foothold on Wizarding Britain.”

Draco frowned at her, apple hovering inches from his lips while she spoke. “I don’t pretend to understand what goes through the Dark Lord’s head.”

“Don’t call him that.”

He shrugged. “Old habits and all that rot. The inspiring speeches he gives at my family dinner table include killing Potter and establishing pureblood supremacy. Not just in Britain, but everywhere.”

“He realizes that’s a fight he can’t win, surely.”

“He thinks he can.”

Hermione tilted her head to one side, watching him. “Is that why you’re here? Because you know he can’t.”

Draco shot her a look, his face betraying little. “No.” He was silent, staring at his skewed reflection in the shiny red skin of the fruit. “It isn’t easy… seeing what he’s willing to do, but I always felt there was no choice apart from going along with it.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Many of his friends had abandoned Voldemort’s cause after enduring far less. She didn’t want to comfort Malfoy, but she didn’t know what else to do, so she sank her teeth into her apple and said nothing.

They finished their breakfast in contemplative silence, and Hermione spent the afternoon reading. Draco was antsy--hovering close to her desk, tapping his feet--and after an hour or two she demanded he go outside and explore the area.

“The wards go down to the road, but there’s nothing much else around out here. There’s a small patch of knotgrass just to the south. If there’s any ready to pick, it’s always handy for potion making.”

“And if not, we can always make mead.” His teeth flashed, but she couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Draco shoved his feet back into his boots, shrugged his cloak over his shoulders, and departed without another word. Hermione exhaled when he was gone, feeling like she could breathe for the first time since she’d spotted him on the cliffside.

However, as the day dragged on, she found herself skipping lunch in favor of pouring over a journal that mentioned the Deathly Hallows. The more she read, the more certain she was that it didn't hold any helpful information.

Needing a break, she cast a warming charm, put on her boots, and went outside. Whatever footprints Malfoy might’ve left were long since covered with fresh powder. When she huffed a breath at having no idea where the former Death Eater had run off to--nevermind that she’d been the one to practically shove him out the door--a puff of white breath escaped with her annoyance.

She moved down toward the road, passing the faded street sign and feeling the wash of protection wards as she passed through.

As she moved toward a clearing near the foot of the hill, she heard a crunch of branches to her left and stilled.

“Malfoy, is that you?”

“Yes,” he replied, appearing through the cluster of trees. His clothes black against the white snow. “Though I’m not sure what that question would have achieved if it had been someone else.”

An amused grin tugged at his features, and she found herself rolling her eyes at his teasing. Once again, she was struck how he was so very like the Malfoy she knew from her childhood and yet also very much like a stranger to her.

“Done reading for the day?” he asked, a pale brow lifting in question.

She pulled her shoulders back. “For a bit. Needed a break.”

“What do you do all day in a place like this?”

“I’m not here all the time, but when I am it’s usually to find a quiet place to study. But when I take a break I train a bit.”

“Train?”

“Physical exercise, that sort of thing. I can tell you’re not unfamiliar with it.”

He smirked at her compliment but she ignored it.

“And if there’s someone else staying with me, sometimes we engage in practice duels.”

At that, his eyes flashed. “Then let’s duel. Been ages since I’ve traded spells with you, Granger.”

“What?” She nearly stumbled. “Now?!”

“Unless you’re too out of practice to spar with me…”

She knew he was teasing, but it didn’t stop the prickle of annoyance from creeping up her collar and flushing her face. He watched her neck and face warm with a delighted sneer. She knew she was playing into his hand, losing her temper the same way she did back in school. Malfoy loved pushing buttons, and even though so much had changed, some things, it seemed, hadn’t changed at all.

“Fine,” she huffed, and removing her jacket and tossing it behind her, she extended her wand in his direction.

Snow fell gently between them, the wind rustling his cloak as he retrieved his own wand. Or  _ a _ wand, one she didn’t recognize to be his own. Not that anyone was in possession of their own wand these days.

With a smirk, Draco lifted the wand and pointed it at her. No talk of rules or boundaries, just immediately springing a binding spell in her direction.

Hermione felt the frown settle across her features, the lecture burning on her tongue. Recklessness like this would lead to nothing but trouble. Although, perhaps a trait of recklessness was precisely what could make a feared Death Eater turn sides.

She met his spell with a counter, and quickly sidestepped the  _ Everte Statum  _ he called next--Hermione could feel the spell fly past, could hear the snapping of trees in its wake.

“Trying to throw me off my feet?” she called, casting a flurry of disarming charms to no avail. He was quick, light on his feet as he expertly shifted out of the way.

“I’m trying to best you, Granger,” he laughed, and despite the seriousness she could gleam from his brows narrowed low over his eyes, there was amusement in his voice. Malfoy  _ liked  _ dueling--that shouldn't have come as a surprise. What surprised her, however, was the feel of her own pulse spiking in eager anticipation of his next move.

She didn’t enjoy dueling these days. In fact, she found herself enjoying very little as of late. But the flurry of jinxes Malfoy sent her way, expertly cast, which she deflected with shields and counters, made one corner of her mouth lift in a grin.

He was skilled and focused. He was ruthless. He was a decent match for her skill.

The jinxes were unrelenting, and when Hermione was positive Malfoy believed he’d cornered her into being on the defensive, she cast a freezing charm.

Not to be outdone, Malfoy smirked, a shield that seemed to come almost effortlessly to him going up, deflecting her charm.

She cursed under her breath.

“ Not bad, Granger,” he called, and though she’d heard those words directed at her before, there was nothing particularly snide about his tone. He panted a bit and pride swelled in her chest--it seemed this wasn’t as effortless for him as she’d first believed.

“I’ve seen battle, Malfoy.”

He shrugged his shoulders back, wand still poised in her direction. “I know.”

He stepped toward her, and she took a hesitant step back, and just as she tried for another freezing charm, he rushed toward her, slamming into her and making her stumble back.

Her backside collided with the packed snow and she winced. “Wands only, Malfoy!”

He glared down his nose at her. She noticed his cheeks were red from the cold.

“Granger, surely you’re not that naive. You can’t command a  _ Death Eater _ to play nice.”

“You’re not a Death Eater anymore, Malfoy,” she spat through clenched teeth.

He laughed. “This is practice. Take it seriously.”

She stood and launched herself toward him, but he was quicker--swiping her feet from under her. Hermione pointed her wand behind her, casting a spongify and effectively softening the ground below her before she made impact. But that moment her wand moved to the ground was enough.

As though he’d been anticipating the opening, Malfoy pounced. With a groan, her lungs violently expelled all the breath they’d been holding, and Hermione lay on her back in the freezing snow. She wheezed as he loomed over her, eyes mocking and mouth smirking.

He straddled her hips, wand poised at her throat. Thoroughly pinned and disarmed, Hermione struggled in his grasp. She growled at him. She felt feral. Enraged.  _ Alive. _

She shucked her hips and he laughed, getting up and stepping away from her.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. You’re smart; perhaps you’ll learn from today’s mistake.

They walked back to the safehouse, her wand gripped tightly in her hand, her eyes narrowed in fury at the sting of defeat. That and Malfoy’s mocking grin.

Just as they were rounding the bottom of the hill, she felt the coin heat in her pocket. She retrieved it, quickly, and stopped walking to stare at the words.

From a few meters ahead, Malfoy stopped and inclined his head. “What is it?”

“The Order is calling for us.”

“Us?” He asked, looking surprised. When she nodded, she watched the guarded expression replace his former glee at victory. “Do you think Potter and Weasley will be there?”

She blinked. “What? Oh, no. The three of us avoid being in the same place together.”

His lips flexed. “That’s smart. The Dark Lord wants all three of you captured.”

Unsurprised by his declaration, Hermione walked up the winding path to his side.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking in the set of his jaw, the molten glare in his grey eyes.  
  
Malfoy grunted. “Don’t expect many will be thrilled to see me there, but Potter and Weasley hate me the most, so small victories, I suppose.”

She grinned. “I think you’ll be okay. But I’ll be there to protect you, just in case.”

Then she bumped his shoulder with her own and continued up the path to the safehouse, leaving Malfoy frowning at the faded street sign for Peppermint Parkway, soft tufts of snowfall skewing the space between them. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to the magical houseofpercypotter for her amazing beta work!!
> 
> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I've been a Dramione reading frenzy lately, haha, but I promise to buckle down and get some writing done in the coming weeks :D

The safehouse in France was one of the most protected Order secrets. The most important business was conducted there, and it’s where Kingsley Shacklebolt spent the majority of his time, guarding confidential information and planning Death Eater attacks.

So Hermione wasn’t surprised when she and Draco Malfoy were tasked to meet him at a red brick-faced townhouse in Liverpool. It was an inconspicuous place on a fairly busy street. She’d never had a reason to come here before, and she wondered if it was often selected for one-off tasks like these--things like making certain a Death Eater wasn’t deceiving them.

Hermione sat at an oak table with stiff wooden chairs. At the head of the table sat Kingsley, his features calm and controlled. But when he leaned forward, something shined in his eyes that had Hermione sitting up straighter in her seat.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and commanding, but not exactly unkind. She knew his tone had been honed from decades of being an auror followed by years of commanding the Order’s forces.

“We asked you not to contact this source. In your letter to Harry, you detailed the information he’d passed and we found it suspicious.”

“Yes.” Her jaw shifted. “But we listened to his warning about the attack in Dundee and the tip about the exploding charm at the drop off point.”

He hummed. “Desperate times, Ms. Granger.”

“That’s how I felt when Luna was taken, too. So I… I thought if I went alone there’d be less chance of me being detected--”

“Which was reckless.”

“--and I could scope out the location and come back with reinforcements if I felt it wasn’t a trap. But then I saw Luna, and...”

“You’re one-third of the Golden Trio. Your role is necessary in this war, Hermione, and we can’t risk you running off on risky missions like a common soldier.”

She glared back at him. “If my brain is so important, then  _ listen to me _ when I find something helpful.”

He appraised her for a long moment before nodding, just once. “We do appreciate Mr. Malfoy’s information. The tips given on the attack at Dundee and the dropoff point each saved dozens of lives. As for Ms. Lovegood, she was inspected by Madame Pomfrey and is currently assisting Ms. Patil at the healing house.”

Hermione exhaled. “I’m glad she’s doing well.”

“First, you rescued Ms. Lovegood. Then, when Mr. Malfoy sent you a message that his position had been compromised, you went, alone--”

“I thought if I waited for someone’s approval it would be too late. It was a calculated risk, one I deemed necessary to take.”

Both hands sitting unflinching on the surface of the table, Kingsley appraised her for a moment longer. Hermione wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to find in her expression, but she kept it tight and guarded. Her brown eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.

“Very well. If you trust him, I will try to trust him, too. But if he gives us a reason to suspect--”

“Of course.”

Kingsley closed his eyes. “We shall see what the  Legilimens says.”

Hermione nodded, swapping her attention to the door at the far end of the room. They sat for what felt like hours, but Hermione knew it couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Chewing on her lip, she watched the twisting grain of the oak door until it opened, a young witch in a wide-brimmed hat stepping into the room. Her gaze swapped from Kingsley to Hermione and back again.

“His intentions are good,” she said. Hermione exhaled and then a second witch entered the room. Hermione stood from her chair abruptly, the heavy wooden legs scraping the floor.

Minerva McGonagall smiled kindly at Hermione, and Hermione fought the urge to embrace the older woman. It had been at least six months since they’d been in a room together.

“I taught Mr. Malfoy at Hogwarts,” Minerva spoke, her voice filling the room with the magnanimity that had Hermione’s lips twitching to a smile.

“Yes,” Kingsley replied. “I know. He was the same year as Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger.”

“He was second in our year to me,” Hermione added, hoping appealing to Malfoy’s intellect might detract from the other facets of his terrible personality.

“ He’s a good potioneer, and since our supply shipments from the border have been cut off…” Minerva’s voice faded, but her sharp eyes seemed to tell Kingsley a portion of the story Hermione wasn’t familiar with.

“Very well, then. Ms. Granger, we have a task for you and Mr. Malfoy to complete.” Kingsley transfigured a scrap of parchment and levitated it across the room until Hermione could take hold of it, her brown eyes darting across the words. It was a list.

“And what does the Order plan to do with this?”

“We’d like you to make a potion.”

Hermione felt her irritation spike, but she tried to tap it down. She glanced up and met Kingsley’s eyes. “Yes, I know what potion you’d like me to make. What are you going to do with the potion?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“You aren’t planning to enter the Ministry now that--”

“Enough speculation,” Kingsley demanded, effectively silencing her. Hermione glanced over to where Minerva’s lips were pressed to a thin line and Hermione knew whatever the plan was, she’d probably disagree with it.

“You’re smart, Hermione. I know you can figure it out, but we’re tasking you to make the potion in three day’s time.”

“Three days?! We won’t have a full moon in that time to pick the fluxweed, nevermind the fact that--”

Minerva cleared her throat. “Mr. Longbottom has the fluxweed on hand, as well as a few other ingredients. You can retrieve them from him.”

Hermione nodded. 

“In three days, someone will drop by the safehouse to collect the potion. We’ll let them know about Mr. Malfoy’s involvement so there will be no surprises,” Kingsley explained.

“And the other ingredients? The ones Neville might not just happen to have laying around the Garden House?”

Minerva treated Hermione to one of her rare smiles. “Perhaps you will find it helpful to have a former Death Eater on supply runs. I’ll bet he has some information that could benefit us all.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. Then she tucked the list in her back pocket and sighed.

“I suppose I’m in charge of Malfoy, then?”

“We trust your judgement, and you seem to trust him.” Minerva’s eyes were kind but guarded. Hermione longed for a conversation with the witch where Kingsley wasn’t present. “I’m sure you’ll have a new task after the potion is complete. We will begin brainstorming some uses for Mr. Malfoy. But for now… Well, for now we think having him stay with you at Peppermint Parkway is safest for everyone involved.”

“I understand.”

Once through the door, Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s arm and Disapparated them to the base of the hill, outside the protection wards of the cottage.

He cursed, yanking his arm free before casting a quick warming charm.

“Warn a bloke, Granger.” He started trudging up the hill, his long strides eating up ground so quickly Hermione had to scramble to keep up. “And isn't there somewhere else the Order could send me? Somewhere it isn’t so sodding cold?!”

She rolled her eyes. “You should be thanking them for agreeing to protect you at all.”

“The  Legilimens did a thorough job.” He looked upset about having his mind prodded, but Hermione knew it couldn’t have been any worse than what he’d endured under Voldemort. “Are you cross at having to babysit me?”

“It’s a temporary arrangement. They want you to help me brew a few batches of something; McGonagall remembers that you were decent at potions.”

He scoffed. “Yes.  _ Decent _ .”

Hermione bit back her smile as she retrieved the list from her pocket. Malfoy snatched it from her hands, his grey eyes moving over the words.

“ Polyjuice.”

“Yes,” she replied. They made it to the stone cottage and Hermione opened the door, quickly removing her coat and boots and placing them by the door. Malfoy handed her the list back, a frown etched across his features, and she bit her lip. “Have you brewed any before?”

“Just once, for practice,” he replied.

“And did it turn out?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. She peeked at Draco, biting her lip as she watched him shuck off his jacket. For her, asking a boy to display his knowledge was akin to asking him to take off his shirt, and she was genuinely curious if his previous batch of Polyjuice Potion had turned out well.

He nodded, and she glanced away to hide her flush. 

“Have you?” he asked, and she snorted.

“Yes. Made my first batch Second Year in the second-floor girls’ lavatory,” she said, unable to help the haughty pitch of her tone.

He stared at her for a long moment. She’d like to think he was impressed or at the very least surprised, but his grey eyes were impossible to read as they ticked across her features.

“Why?”

Hermione froze. “Ah…”

“Granger.”

She cleared her throat. “Well, it was ages ago, but… I brewed it to spy on you. Harry impersonated Goyle and Ron posed as Crabbe. We thought…” She met his gaze, unflinching. “We suspected you might be the Heir of Slytherin.” 

Draco laughed. It was a long, drawn-out bark that had Hermione watching the way it deepened the lines of his cheeks. When he was done, he shook his head and mumbled, “Saint Potter, always bending the rules and getting away with it. Why am I not surprised…”

Wanting to talk about anything else, Hermione tapped the list. “I know where we can get a few of these. But we only have three days, so I might need your help with the rest.”

“I didn’t bother picking any knotgrass yesterday, but it looked ready.”

“We can go grab some of that after dinner, then,” she replied, peering into the box of rations and starting on a plan for dinner. “Tomorrow first thing in the morning we’ll head out to the Garden House.”

“The Garden House?”

“Oh! Yeah!” She grinned. “We’ll actually be visiting one of your dearest friends while we’re there.”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t have any friends.”

Hermione retrieved two potatoes from her slim stash of produce, then bent to search the bottom of the pantry, looking for salt. “You and Pansy weren’t friends?”

“ _ Pansy _ works for the Order?!”

Salt in hand, Hermione twisted to face him. “That was my exact reaction, as well.”

Draco looked pensive, and maybe even a little hurt.

Hermione swapped on the oven and salted the pair of potatoes. Draco’s silence unnerved her, so she cleared her throat and explained, “Apparently her father tried to have her married off to some older Death Eater… She rebelled and he threatened to-- Well, she started off as an informant for us, but she didn’t know much information. But she’s proven very loyal and useful in her own way.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Just picturing Pansy living at a place called the Garden House. I suspect she has to actually  _ garden _ while she’s there?”

Hermione laughed. “I don’t think she plays in the dirt, if that’s what you’re picturing.”

“I thought… I figured she’d fled the country.”

“She didn’t. But you’re on our side now, Malfoy. I think she’ll be pleased to see you again.”

His eyes met her, expression fading back to neutral. “No, I don’t suspect she will. I wasn’t very kind to her when she was being forced into an engagement. She didn’t want any part in it and begged me to help her run away to Germany.”

Hermione bit her lip. “People change, Malfoy. If you’ve gotten me to trust you, I don’t imagine getting Parkinson on board will be all that hard.”

He laughed, a tired, bitter sound that hung in the kitchen between them, and Hermione didn’t know how to respond to a reaction like that. Instead, she went back to prepping potatoes and mentally preparing to brew Polyjuice Potion for a mission she wasn’t supposed to know anything about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the help from houseofpercypotter for the beta assistance on this chapter.
> 
> I promise to devote some extra time in the coming weeks to get more of this story written. I feel like we're just at the tip of the action, and I know that's the WORST for a WIP, haha, so I'll try my best to get some additional chapters out ASAP.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. ♡

Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s arm and Apparated them to the little navy cottage known as the Garden House. The second they arrived, she dropped his wrist and led the way toward the narrow thatch overhang and a curry-orange door.

Draco glanced around, and Hermione knew he was likely getting a sense for where in the world they were. She knocked twice and before she could explain anything to Draco, the door swung open and a pair of strong arms embraced her.

Neville had grown taller and broader since she’d last seen him. That, or she just kept forgetting that he’d somehow sprouted, widened, and grown into his jaw. And teeth. And shoulders.

When he set her back on her feet, Hermione peered under his arm to watch Pansy Parkinson take two tentative steps in their direction.

Like every time she saw Pansy, Hermione resisted the urge to pat down her hair and explain the state of her denims. Pansy wore an olive green boatneck dress with a fitted skirt and a pair of four-inch heels. Hermione tapped a rubber-toed boot against the ground and smiled at the other woman.

“Granger,” Pansy greeted. Then her sharp, dark eyes flashed to Malfoy. Hermione watched as Pansy assessed him--her gaze moving over his neutral expression, the tight set of his shoulders, and his hands tucked into pockets. Pansy sighed. “Well, Malfoy. You certainly have some explaining to do.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. After a few tense moments of silence, Neville clapped his big hands together and laughed. “Let’s head inside first. Pans made lunch, and I have some ingredients for the both of you.”

The four former classmates sat at a round table with sleek, black chairs. A bowl of fresh fruit decorated its center, and as Neville unpacked bread and pastries, Pansy poured four glasses of wine. Her French bob swung around her slim shoulders.

When she handed Draco his glass, he frowned at her.

“You live here?”

“I do,” she replied, voice cool. Then her red lips fitted around the rim of her glass and she took a long pull of wine. Hermione looked to Neville, wondering which one of them should speak to ease some of the tension hanging thick in the room, but Pansy set down her glass and continued. “After you refused to help me swipe a portkey to Germany, I didn’t feel there were a lot of options.”

Draco nodded, understanding but not apologizing.

“I bounced around a couple different safehouses, living with all sorts of idiots. I stayed with Ravenclaws huddling in the woods near Hogwarts while working on healing spells and running interference. Then I settled in a lovely flat in Paris, watching over Muggle-borns fleeing the country, and finally, well, they sent me here to assist Longbottom.”

Draco’s lazy gaze switched to Neville Longbottom whose dark hair was sticking on end as if he’d spent the day running his fingers through it. Neville’s plaid shirt was rolled up to his elbows and his lopsided grin made the skin around his eyes crinkle. When Draco turned back to Pansy, he blinked.

“And you garden here?”

“I help with the preservation of the ingredients Neville grows,” she said primly.

“She also makes lovely table arrangements. Never seen someone who can do so much with flowers. All the safehouses love receiving her bouquets. Except…” Neville’s voice trailed, and then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose Hermione just favors more practical things.”

“I like flowers,” Hermione replied. She wondered if anyone believed her.

Neville nodded, his eyes going warm as he turned to Pansy. Hermione marveled at how his already kind features could soften at the cold woman. “When I heard she needed a new position, I requested she join me here. I always remember her being good at preparing potion ingredients back at school. Real neat and tidy with things.”

Pansy took another sip of wine, reminding Hermione of her own glass still sitting next to her untouched plate. The cucumber and tomato salad looked like it was from a poncy restaurant--the type she never frequented even before the world had gone to shit.

“Oh! We have some berry cobbler, too! Just delivered this morning from Fleur. I’ll grab some.”

Neville lolloped through an archway, and then Pansy’s eyes narrowed on Draco.

“Don’t you dare judge me, Draco.” Her red lips pursed, and Hermione found herself suddenly interested in buttering a slice of toast. “Longbottom’s the best at growing food. Figured I wouldn't starve this way. Besides, I don’t know what in Merlin’s name happened between now and school, but  _ sweet Salazar  _ he’s gotten fit, no? Hermione? C’mon. Agree with me here.”

Hermione blinked up at Pansy, wondering if she was actually supposed to reply to the ridiculous thread of conversation or if Pansy’s question had been rhetorical. When she found both Pansy and Draco staring back at her, she lifted a single shoulder to her ear before letting it drop again.

“Ah, sure. Neville’s got… great arms.”

Pansy blinked at her. “Brightest Witch of our Bloody Age my arse…”

“I mean, sure, yes. He’s attractive. Of course. But Neville’s like a brother to me. That’s like asking me if I found  _ Harry _ handsome.”

Pansy grunted, but turned her sharp glare back on Draco. Hermione exhaled, finally feeling like she could relax again.

“I always figured you’d be a turncoat. Never really had the stomach for killing and torturing.”

At Pansy’s words, Malfoy frowned. And even though his grey eyes flashed with emotion, he didn’t contradict her.

When Neville reentered the room, he was balancing a tray of cobbler as well as a few vials of potion ingredients. Hermione tried to keep her features neutral as he set them on the table at once.

“Lacewing flies,” he said, the glass jar clinking against the cobbler dish.

“I stewed them myself, so any potion inefficiency is on the two of you,” Pansy said, and then she carried on ignoring them, sipping her wine.

“I also have some fluxweed on hand, luckily. McGonagall asked me last month to pick some, but I don’t know why I didn’t put it together… Oh well. You two be careful.” Neville’s mouth quirked into a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, and Hermione bit her lip.

“We’re brewing it, but we don’t know what it’s for.”

“Ah.” His face fell, and she knew he was also assuming the worst. Hermione’s gut twisted. Infiltrating the Ministry seemed like the sort of scheme Harry and Ron would attempt. She wasn’t opposed, exactly, but she’d feel a lot better if she were allowed to come along. Her supervision had always been paramount; they weren’t known as the Golden  _ Trio _ for nothing. They were better together--alone she felt a bit like one-third of a whole.

“I think the last time someone used polyjuice to disguise themselves for a mission was…” Neville rested his elbows on the table, laughter chasing his words. “Well, that had to be when you posed as Bellatrix to get into her Gringotts vault, eh, Hermione?”

Hermione took her first sip of wine and nodded, trying to ignore the way Malfoy’s eyes bore into her.

“So. Cobbler?” Pansy intoned, and without responding, Neville was slicing them each a fat wedge and dolling out plates.

They ate in silence, everyone scraping the last bits of dessert with the edges of their spoons. When they were done, Pansy flicked her wand to charm the plates to wash while Neville leaned back so he balanced precariously on the back two legs of his chair.

“Has he met with the Order?” Pansy asked, keeping her eyes on Hermione, even though Malfoy was sitting right there.

Hermione nodded in response. “Yes. He met with a  Legilimens and was interviewed by both Minerva and Kingsley before being tasked to help brew the potion.”  
  
Pansy’s sharp gaze cut across to Malfoy, but whatever she was thinking, her lips remained pursed.

Neville smiled a broad smile, flashing both rows of straight, white teeth.  “Well, I think it’s nice that people change. Malfoy, let me give you a tour of the grounds! They’re not as grand as the Manor, probably, but there’re some nice bits that I like showing off.”

Malfoy stood, not bothering to cast a look at Hermione and Pansy before following Neville out the door.

When the door clicked back into its frame, Pansy exhaled.

“Do you think we can trust him?”

“I’ve been communicating with him for months. He’s given us loads of valuable information. He saved Luna.” Not for the first time, Hermione wondered when it had become her job to carry a verbal resume of Malfoy’s good deeds.

Pansy was silent for a long moment, absorbing her words. “And what, he called for help and you came running?”

“His position was compromised. If I hadn’t… Pansy, you know what You-Know-Who would do to him if he were found out.” Hermione watched the red liquid swirl in her glass, feeling her insides twist in the same manner.

“And you’ve always loved helping the downtrodden, haven’t you?” Pansy snorted.

The edges of her mouth flattened, but instead of responding, Hermione took a sip from her glass. She kept a bottle of Firewhisky hidden beneath a cabinet back at Peppermint Parkway, but she’d never found much occasion to drink anymore.

Pansy’s sharp gaze never left hers, and when she spoke again, there was something quiet about her voice. “But has he changed? I find it strange that he’d come here alone; he’s probably risking his parents’ safety.”

“I don’t know, Pansy. He might be more inclined to talk to you than he would me. At least he liked you, once. He’s always hated me, and I don’t think that’s changed.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure Draco’s ever liked anyone, not really. But if you’re so positive people can really change…”

“You changed!” Hermione’s voice nearly cracked. “ Regulus Black changed. Even  _ Dumbledore _ had his core beliefs shift at some point in his life.”

“Wizarding-supremacy isn’t the same as blood-supremacy,” Pany huffed.

“But they’re both prejudices, don’t you see? You’ve changed and Malfoy’s changed; you aren’t the first, and I don’t suspect you to be the last. No, I refuse to believe you’ll be the last.”

“I suppose.” Pansy finished her glass and set it on the table. She tapped the side of the crystal with a delicate nail. Hermione blinked. Where on earth had Pansy managed to get a  _ manicure _ ? “I wasn’t always… Well, I would’ve turned Harry Potter in back then. I would’ve turned  _ you  _ in, if given the chance. Changing sides was entirely self preserving, and I suspect that’s why Draco’s here, as well.”

“But you wouldn’t have me killed now.”

Pansy exhaled through her nose. “Isn’t it strange that I don’t think I would? This is probably all because I’ve had to endure living with that bleeding-heart, dopily courageous Gryffindor for a whole six months…”

The edges of her mouth tugged to a grin, and Hermione couldn’t help but nod.

“While you were skipping school to take a camping trip, I had to endure Hogwarts during that time. And while you were away it was Longbottom who was forced to be brave even without the Golden Trio shining gilted light through their sodding arses.”

Plucking invisible lint from her denims, Hermione avoided meeting Pansy’s eyes. As the silence stretched, Hermione chewed on her lip.

“As for Draco…” Pansy’s lips pursed. “I’d like to think we can trust him.”

“Me, too.”

Neville and Draco came barreling through the door a moment later, and Hermione got to her feet. She thanked Pansy for lunch as she gathered the potion ingredients and followed Neville down to the Apparition point outside the Garden House’s protection charms.

As she said farewell to Neville, Hermione watched as Draco nodded at Pansy from the corner of her eye. Perhaps there was something apologetic in his features, but his lips were pressed into a tight line.

When Neville clapped a hand on Malfoy’s back, the blond’s jaw tensed, his shoulders recoiled, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

Perhaps people could change, but not entirely…

When Malfoy moved to her side, features still expressionless, he asked, “Are you laughing at me?”

She bit her lip. “I would never.” And then she Disapparated them away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks to houseofpercypotter for the beta'ing this chapter. ♡
> 
> TW: there is a reference to rape in this chapter (no one is raped, nothing graphic is written or will be written in this story, but I do want to provide a warning just in case)

Snow blustered by the window. As Hermione watched the storm outside, her shallow breaths fogging the glass, she realized that her tendency to be steadfast and forgiving even in times of war was probably a curse. 

The Order was being unreasonable, first in their dismissal of Draco Malfoy. And secondly… how could they expect her to procure  leeches, powdered bicorn horn, and boomslang skin when even simple sources of protein were nearly impossible to come by?

_ Cursed _ . Her lips flattened to a thin, white line.

As she stared out into the storm, her gaze refocused and she was forced to watch her own reflection in the window. Against the backdrop of white she looked sallow and thinner than normal, with her hair plaited and still wearing yesterday’s denims.

Behind her skewed reflection she spied  a figure shadowing the entryway of the little stone cottage. It was a powerful silhouette in the doorway. Masculine. Mysterious. A black-as-night cloak flowing over black trousers complemented by pale skin and paler hair.

She turned to meet his eye. Blaming her compulsion to solve every puzzle placed in her lap, she watched him while chewing on her lower lip. She just wanted to figure him out.

“Minerva seems to think you’ll be helpful in securing potion ingredients.”

Malfoy toed out of his boots, nothing in his posture giving her any reason to suspect he’d heard her. Only when he looked up, his clear grey eyes cutting across the distance between them, did Hermione see a flicker of recognition cross his features.

“I have an idea.”

Hermione turned her back to the window, crossing her hands over her chest because letting them hang there by her sides seemed too open. Too vulnerable.

Draco remained quiet and she felt the edges of her nerves fray. “Care to share with the class, Malfoy?”

It only took him a half dozen steps to cross the cottage before he dropped into one of the dining chairs. Hermione remained by the window, the frayed annoyance unravelling to rage.

After a too-long silence, Malfoy nodded. “Sure.”

When he  _ still  _ didn’t garner a response, she huffed and for the first time that day he was grinning. He’d  _ wanted  _ to rile her up, and she’d played right into his hand.

“Bored, Malfoy?”

“I am. You’re not very kind to your guests, Granger. There’s nothing to do here but sit inside and listen to you huff and puff. Honestly, going outside to wander in the snow and freeze sounds better than sitting inside this shack a second longer.” He grinned, flashing white teeth in what she couldn’t place as being either a kind smile nor a particularly mean one, either.

“Stay on topic, Malfoy. The plan?” One of her brows quirked high and he nodded.

“There’s a Death Eater in Canterbury--a potions master. The Dark Lord calls upon him to make nearly everything he needs.”

Her posture remained stiff, but she was listening.

“He’s got a stocked arsenal of ingredients, and  _ I _ happen to know his schedule. Prick can’t be bothered to meet from six to eight in the evening because, ah, well, I’ll spare you the details, Granger. They’re quite unpleasant. But he’s otherwise engaged and will absolutely not be interrupted.”

Not keen to find out what a Death Eater did nightly with a two-hour window of time blocked off, Hermione nodded. “And we can manage to get in, and more importantly out, without being detected?”

“He doesn’t trust much staff, has no elves… He’s very particular about his things.”

Hermione found herself nodding. The insider information Malfoy could provide… She suppressed a shiver. She wondered how long it would take before the Order whisked him away to bigger things. He could be invaluable to their cause.

With a deft flick of her wrist, Hermione conjured a sheet of parchment, and bent over the desk she’d previously only toiled at alone, together, they sketched out a plan.

He helped draw a map of the house in case they got separated. They worked out the best point of entry. Draco made certain they had several exits should anything go not as planned, and the following evening at promptly five forty-five, Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes.

“Careful there, Granger. I don’t suspect the Order tasked us with this so we could have a bit of fun.”

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she watched him dress. Watched the way he slipped the dark cloak over his shoulders, watched the way the fabric fluttered near the ground, cutting that ominous inky silhouette that ought to have made fear dance down her spine.

Only, with Draco Malfoy in the clothes, for some reason it didn’t. She almost felt  _ comforted  _ that someone capable and knowledgeable would be by her side.

Realizing she’d gone far too long without responding, Hermione blinked, shook her head, and cleared her throat--a trio of actions of a true imbecile, she realized. She wanted to berate herself, but there wasn’t time.

“Right. Let’s be off, then.”

Malfoy nodded. When he grabbed her forearm, she exhaled. When she inhaled again it was cloudy. The overhang of grey loomed high over their heads. She glared at the clouds, thankfully not one to give in to pointless notions like ominous signs and fortune-telling.

“Stay close,” Malfoy instructed, not glancing over his shoulder as he made his way through town. He weaved through narrow alleys, crossing streets, pressing his back against stone-faced buildings, all while searching for something. Searching, Hermione realized, for something she couldn’t spot herself. She looked around as they ducked between a rather normal-looking side street, but she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. There seemed nothing out of place despite how much she tried to focus on the sparse crowds of the city at sunset.

She shifted her focus on Draco--watching the way his grey eyes narrowed at some point in the distance. His hard gaze moved over the crowd, searching faces that from Hermione’s perspective, were lost in a sea of strangers.

“There shouldn’t be any checkpoints at this hour,” he whispered, and she found herself shifting closer to him as he spoke. Close enough that if she wanted, she could grasp the fabric of his cloak. “Canterbury isn’t frequented by Death Eaters, but…”

She watched his jaw tense, signaling a shift in his normally cool demeanor. Whatever he didn’t say, she knew it was unsavory. She’d spent most of her time since school hiding, camping in the woods with Harry or alone in safehouses researching and rationing. But this--the world outside--she hated that she was largely ignorant of the details. She understood the large picture, that even the Muggle parts of cities weren’t safe for Muggleborn wizards. That even Muggles weren’t entirely safe from random attacks by Death Eaters. The Ministry had been taken over, and with all wizarding pockets of Britain off-limits to Order sympathizers, she had no idea how to cut through a city like Canterbury without being caught.

Malfoy exhaled, and before she could ask what that meant, he seized her wrist and was pulling her through another winding alleyway. When the street opened to a seemingly nondescript neighborhood, Draco shifted toward her.

She blinked. He was so close she could count his pale eyelashes. When he spoke, she could feel the warmth of his breath brush the shell of her ear.

“We’re going to have to walk down this street. There aren’t any spies out and no checkpoints, so we should be inconspicuous enough. But stay close. Prepare to Disapparate if we’re approached.”

“What if it’s just a Muggle asking for directions?”

He looked unamused by her question. “Disapparate if you’re approached. Do you know this city well enough to give directions? Do you know how to act without raising suspicion?”

“No, but--” She shifted her jaw. “Fine.”

They walked the length of the street together, close enough that they looked like friends, but they didn’t chat. Didn’t glance at one another. When they crossed the road and the houses grew sparse and further apart, Hermione felt the Muggle-repelling charm as she passed through.

“You’re good at this, at not being seen.”

He ignored her, stopping behind a tree and pulling her to his side.

When he cursed, she tried to peer over his shoulder, around the tree, to catch a glimpse at whatever had him straightening at her side. She was desperate to see what had his fists compressing so tightly that his knuckles were a staunch white against his already pale skin.

“What are we looking at?” she whispered.

“I don’t understand… He should be inside…”

When Hermione turned again, she saw a trio of figures in front of the house Draco was staring intently at. The house hidden beneath the Muggle-repelling charm. The house, she suspected, that belonged to the Dark Lord’s potions master.

Two men appeared to be arguing, and Hermione strained to hear what had one going red-faced and the other turning his long nose in the air. There was something about Muggle girls and the price that they’d agreed upon, and then Hermione saw for the first time that the third figure was that of a teenage girl.

She was pretty with wispy blonde curls. Her eyes were wide, and her wrists were chained in front of her in the same way Luna’s had been. Hermione felt the stone of dread sinking low in her gut, understanding well enough what the frightened, bird-like Muggle girl would be doing in front of a Death Eater’s home. The dread gave way to rage, only settled by Malfoy placing a warm hand on her wrist.

“Focus, Granger. We need that head of yours if we’re going to pull this off.”

She knew he was right, but she couldn't absolve her anger . They couldn’t just… The men stopped arguing, one shoving the Muggle girl toward the other before spinning on his heel and striding away. There was an exchange of farewells, and a “ _ same time tomorrow”  _ that made Hermione’s jaw tighten. She could feel the fury of magic spike, could feel her hands twitch to grab her wand. There was a hex on the tip of her tongue, and then the portly man dragged the pretty young Muggle by the arm, leading her up the stone steps to the house.

When Hermione turned back to Malfoy, an argument for changing their plan already flitting in her brain, ready on her tongue, she froze.

He was glaring at the wizard disappearing through the front door of the house, and through the petulant scowl curling his lips, she could  see the boy he used to be. However, there was nothing boyish about him now. In the set of his shoulders and the tightening of his jaw, Hermione could feel fury--white hot fury that rivaled her own.

Malfoy was upset, too. Her heart stuttered. Maybe joining the Order wasn’t entirely self-preservation. Maybe it ran deeper than that.

“Lead the way,” she said in place of arguing, and he nodded, just once, before slipping around the side door and muttering a  _ diffindo _ that severed the lock and allowed them inside.

It was dark. Hermione casted a  _ Lumos _ while Draco drew his wand and moved through the corridors with the swift grace of a man who’d done his fair share of breaking and entering.

Just as it had been in the map Malfoy had drawn at the safehouse, the potions cupboard was the second door on the left. Unlike she’d been warned,  _ cupboard  _ was not quite the word she would have used for the room lined with narrow rows of shelves and crowded with squat glass jars stuffed with ingredients.

Hermione could hear her intake of air in the silence of the room.

“We need to move quickly.”

“I thought we had two hours,” she replied, eyes dancing across the array of shelving, wondering if a summoning charm would work in a place like this. When she tried and nothing happened, she felt Malfoy’s smirk before she saw it--the edges of it teasing.

“It was worth a try,” she grumbled, starting on the shelf closest to her, reading the labels on the jars at eye-level.

“I suppose that would’ve saved time,” he replied. “And no, I don’t think we should spend two hours here, so like I said: we need to move quickly.”

The room grew quiet as they searched, Hermione’s ire spiking. She could not discern any sense of organization to the pantry. It was like things had just been placed on shelves at random. By wand light she read the scribbled labels as quickly as she could, her brow puckered in frustration.

“Here’s Boomslang skin,” Malfoy announced, and she ran to his side. Standing on her toes to read the bottle, Hermione felt her confusion rise.

“What’s wrong? Your face is all…” He gestured vaguely to her face. “...scrunched.”

She shook her head. “That’s snake skin, but… Boomslang skin should be a sallow brown or iridescent green. But that’s…”

Malfoy squinted. She wondered why he wasn’t using wand light. She could feel the lecture in her rising, but she tried to tamp in down. They didn’t have time and…

“Shit,” Malfoy cursed. “This is Runespoor. Look at the scales…”

She looked, confusion pulling her brow. “They’re mislabeled.”

When she glanced over and found him frowning at her, she couldn’t help but snap. “What?”

“ You’re just a very impressive witch. You’d think I'd forget, but yes, of course, now I remember you know bloody  _ everything. _ ”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“Both, I think.”

And by the narrow slip of light her wand cast, she could see the shadow of a smirk curling one side of Malfoy’s mouth.

Hermione huffed a breath, but she knew it didn’t hold the intended level of annoyance--the mood somehow softened by their exchange.

“Might be the first kind thing you’ve ever said to me. So I’ll take it. Being smart never seemed like an insult to me anyway.”

Deciding to ignore her, Malfoy confirmed. “So the ingredients are purposefully mislabeled.”

She exhaled. This impossible task had suddenly become  _ more  _ impossible.

With a quick spell, Malfoy lifted his wand and flicked his wrist, and Hermione watched in amazement as the labels on the bottles rearranged themselves. The Boomslang skin was now correctly labeled Runespoor skin and Hermione watched with wide, excited eyes as the shelf revealed an organization system--rat spleen, Re’em blood, rose thorn…

“They’re alphabetical!” she cried, knowing she was stating the obvious but beyond caring. She could  _ hug _ the stupid prat for his brilliance. “That’s a handy trick…”

He grunted, leading the way to the B’s. “He must anticipate pantry thieves.”

She moved to the L’s, snatching the leeches and meeting him by the door. He handed her the pair of bottles and she inspected them to confirm they were correct, just in case, before dropping them into her beaded bag.

Malfoy opened the door, leading the way down a long corridor. Their footsteps were silent against the parquet floor.  Keeping her eyes trained ahead, Hermione watched the cloaked figure of Malfoy move. He was a knife ripping a jagged scar in the universe, his steps silent and deadly.

And before Hermione could process anything beyond her partner’s foreboding presence, Draco turned, his arm encircling her waist and pressing her back against the wall. The pair of them disappearing into the shadows.

Eyes wide and lips parted, she stared at him, fright creeping up her spine like icy tendrils. When she caught the stern look in his gaze, she felt herself nodding.

Perfectly capable of keeping quiet, but not quite able to stifle her curiosity, Hermione strained to see from under his arm, fighting the urge to gasp as she took in the shaking figure of the Muggle girl. She looked frightened, her hands still bound, her lower lip quivering.

“You stay right here,” the man at her side commanded. His hand trailed across her jaw, fingers lingering near her temple before he stepped back and disappeared through a doorway.

The girl just stood there, unmoving, her eyes trained forward as if the Death Eater had cast a sticking charm. Only… Hermione knew it was fear that had the girl paralyzed.

Steeling herself to move forward, her footsteps were halted by Malfoy’s sharp whisper.  
  
“Granger.  _ No _ .”

Hermione bristled. She didn’t know the meaning of the word no, and she wasn’t going to learn now.

Not casting Malfoy another glance, Hermione cut a quick path down the hallway, silent footsteps closing the distance between where Malfoy stood shaking with fury and where the Muggle girl stood staring resolutely forward, unaware of Hermione’s presence.

When Hermione was directly at her side, she lifted a single finger to her lips--a universal signal for quiet--and then she took the girl by her hand, gently leading her back toward Malfoy.

He met them halfway, scowl etched across his features. But Hermione ignored his ire. It wasn’t hard, she’d had loads of practice ignoring Malfoy’s annoyance over the years, and this certainly wasn’t the first time it was directed towards her.

When Malfoy was close enough that she could touch him, Hermione grabbed his arm and Disapparated the three of them away.

They were back in the winding alley outside town. In the distance, she could hear the chattering of Muggles. Hermione dropped her hold on both Malfoy and the Muggle girl before taking a step back. Brandishing her wand, she gave it a quick, effortless twist.

“ _ Obliviate. _ ”

She knew her magic well. She knew the events she’d erased, even as she felt the anger still radiating off Malfoy.

Without a second glance at either, she stole Malfoy’s arm and Apparated them outside the wards at Peppermint Parkway.

Snow fell between them like a curtain. When she exhaled, she could see it in the puffs of white air. When she tilted her chin--to look at him, to appear defiant--he shook his head.

“Shut up,” she spat.

His hands disappeared into his pockets. There was something almost like a smile in his grey eyes, even as his mouth remained flat.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t care. Shut up.” Hermione fought the urge to stamp her feet. And as she trudged up the snow covered path toward the safehouse, for the first time in so long, she felt alive.


End file.
